Manhunt
by CharlieBoox
Summary: Angelina's point of view about what has happened two years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Rated T just to be safe. Please Review and tell me whether you like it - Charlie.


**AN: I don't own Harry Potter Or the Poem 'Manhunt' :) **

_Af__ter the first phase,_

_After passionate nights and intimate days,_

Two years after the battle of Hogwart's Angelina lay next to George on the floor of her tiny flat that she now shared with George, her stare fixed on his face, memorizing every curve and dip of his skin over his sickeningly pale cheeks, hollow eyes that had lost their sparkle along with dark bags forming under them. She knew that even after these two difficult and raw years, George had still not let go of Fred. Not that she nor anyone else had expected him too. Angelina had watched as the man who she once called one of her best friends disappeared deep into his mind, leaving behind and empty shell. They had stayed in this position every day for weeks, maybe even months, sometimes if Angelina was lucky she would get a brief sentence or two out of the ginger haired man next to her, but usually all the two of them could hear in the was the almost calming sound of their breathing. Angelina stared at the gap between their arms, resisting the urge to move closer to him and take his hand. He wouldn't allow that. In fact, he barely allowed his mother, Molly Weasley, to give him a hug. Even then George would have an almost bitter look to him once he was free of his mothers loving arms, thinking that Fred should be there with him.

_Only then would he let me trace_

_The frozen river which ran through his face,_

_Only then would he let me explore_

_The blown hinge of his lower jaw,_

Angelina noticed a slight improvement in the stocky Weasley that walked barefoot with occasionally one sock one. He wouldn't flinch whenever she blushed against him and even occasionally allowed her or Molly to give him a gentle hug. George also seem to watch her more than he had before, allowing her to run her thin gentle fingers through his bright hair, down the sides of his face and stopping at the base of his neck. Angelina watched, from her position of leaning against one of the kitchen counters with a mug of coffee in one hand, as George walked slowly into the room, sitting heavily on one of the chairs around a battered wooden table and picking up the Daily Prophet that Angelina had discarded when it had been delivered by a large barn owl not ten minutes before.

_And handle and hold_

_The damaged, porcelain collar-bone,_

_And mind and attend the fractured rudder of shoulder-blade,_

_And finger and thumb the parachute silk of his punctured lung._

They had a system. Everyday Angelina would forceful push George onto the couch, gently pulling off his shirt and undoing his bandages that were wrapped tightly around one of his shoulder-blades that had been injured in a blast like the one that had killed Fred. Even after the years, his shoulder was still as broken as the day it happened. She would then let her hand stray over the scars that littered his chest and back, almost stroking a large one that ran straight across his chest from a cutting spell that had hit him deep, causing some internal bleeding but thank Merlin, had been nothing for the healers at St. Mungos to fix after a few blood replenishing potions and a few days in bed.

_Only then could I bind the struts_

_And climb the rungs of his broken ribs,_

_And feel the hurt_

_Of his grazed heart._

Angelina would then feel George tense as she grabbed new bandages, wrapping them tightly around his body, constricting his bones into place. She would then pull the straps on his bandages, tightening them even more, causing him to let out a wolf like howl of pain that ran shivers through her spine. George would breathe heavily, closing his eyes in defeat to his physical pain, resulting in Angelina standing behind him with a battle inside her head to loosen the straps and save him from his pain. Angelina had this need, and burning desire, to protect George from everything and everyone. She watched everyone like a hawk whilst they were around George, ready to jump in at any moment when George looked tense at the situation.

_Skirting along,_

_Only then could I picture the scan,_

_The foetus of metal beneath his chest_

_Where the bullet had finally come to rest._

George would sit on a window sill in living room that over looked the road outside her flat, muggles walking to wherever past the flat to entertain George. Angelina allowed this brief and quiet moments to think back when they both where back in school. When her only worries were how much Fred and George got into trouble and getting her best friend Alicia Spinnet to even attempt her homework. She let her memories fill her up and she watched as two identical first year picked a fell first year, Alicia off the floor with tears flowing down her rosy cheeks and whilst George held her in his arms, Fred and their friend Lee tackled the two Slytherin's that had pushed Alicia to the ground. Then a pair of older Weasley twins sitting on their broomsticks with a large identical grins has the floated above most of the school with an irate Umbridge screaming at the top of her lungs.

_Then I widened the search,_

_Traced the scarring back to its source_

_To a sweating, unexploded mine_

_Buried deep in his mind,_

It was not all peace and serenity in that small messy flat. Often when George was feeling particularly cranky and bitter a small, yet very loud war, would appear between them. These enraged and livid battles between the Gryffindors caused neighbours to bang against the walls, cup or plates were smashed and thrown at the opposing. Yet it was these streamed arguments where George seemed to let out his pain from losing Fred and would allow Angelina a small insight on what George had been thinking about before they had both got riled up. These raging battles would often end in either Angelina or George breaking down in tears. If it was the latter, Angelina would often walk over, pulling out her wand and floating George to his bed where she would lay next to him, holding him as if he was a little boy again, kissing his forehead and often mumbling comforting words through her own tears. George however, would stand there watching Angelina for maybe two minutes before trampling over anything that they had knocked over and sit next to her with one of his long arms draped around her shoulder, in a comforting silence.

_Around which every nerve in his body had tightened and closed._

_Then, and only then, did I come close._

There were some moments when both of them just let go of the past and let each others company be their sole thought. These short yet sweet moments were ones of butterfly kisses being littered gently over Angelina's lips, her neck and her shoulders. George wrapping his muscular arms around her small waist, pulling her gently into his lap. He let her explore every small crevice in his mouth with her tongue, stroking his cheek with her small tender and delicate hands. Only then in those quiet and peaceful moments would Angelina see the George that she had once seen and the one that she had learnt to love.


End file.
